"The girl!--the girl!" cried all the voices round.
"However men may love leaping," said John of Lancaster, "they seek not to break their necks by springing from a window, when they can help it."
"Well, then," continued Henry, "you must carry your amorous violence to other lands, Sir Simeon of Roydon. You have committed a discourteous and unknightly act, and must give us time to forget it. We will not touch you in person or in purse, in goods or lands; but we banish you for two years from the realm of England. Bestow yourself where you will, but be not found within these shores after one month from this day, which space we give you to prepare. Is this a just award, my lords?"
The gentlemen round bowed their heads; and Henry, turning to the good old knight, added, with a gracious smile, "I thank you much, Sir Philip Beauchamp, for bringing this matter to my knowledge. These are deeds that I am resolved to check, with all the power that God entrusts to me."
"Heaven bless your Grace, and ever send us such a King!" replied the old knight; and, taking Ella by the hand, with a lowly reverence to the monarch, he led her from the hall.
Henry, it would seem, dismissed his court at once; for before the minstrel girl and her companion had reached the bottom of the stairs, they were surrounded by several of the younger nobles, who were all somewhat eager to say soft and flattering things to the fair object of the day's interest, notwithstanding some rough reproof from good Sir Philip Beauchamp. But as he and his young charge were passing out with Mary Markham's maiden, a low deep voice whispered in Ella's ear, "I swear, by Christ's sepulchre, I will have revenge!"--and the next moment Sir Simeon of Roydon passed them, mounted his horse in the palace-yard, and rode furiously away.
CHAPTER XVII.
[THE PREPARATION.]
It was late in the evening of the same day of which we have just been speaking, when Ella Brune returned to her hostelry. She had gone back to thank fair Mary Markham for her kindness, intending only to stay for a few moments; but her new friend detained her till the sun was near his setting, and then only let her depart under the escort of Hugh of Clatford and another yeoman, after extracting a promise from her that she would return on the following morning, after the sad ceremony of her grandsire's funeral was over. And now Ella sat in her lonely little chamber, with the tears filling her bright eyes, which seemed fixed upon a spot of sunshine on the opposite wall of the court, but, in reality, saw nothing, or, at least, conveyed no impression to the mind. Why was it Ella wept? To say truth, Ella herself could not, or would not tell. It was, perhaps, the crowding upon her of many sad sensations, the torrent swelled by many smaller rills, which caused those tears; and yet there was one predominant feeling--one that she wished not to acknowledge even to her own heart. What can I call it? How shall I explain it? It was not disappointment; for, as I have said before, she did not, she had never hoped. No, the best term for it is, love without hope; and oh! what a bitter thing that is!
During the whole of that morning she had had no time to dwell upon it; she had been occupied while she remained with Mary Markham in struggling against her own sensations--not examining them. But now she paused and pondered: in solitude and in silence, she gave way to bitter thought; but it was not with the weak and wavering irresolution of a feeble mind. On the contrary, though the anguish would have its tear, she regarded her present fate and future conduct with the firm and energetic purposes of a heart inured to suffer and to decide. Her mind rested upon Richard of Woodville, upon his kindness, his generosity, his chivalrous protection of her who had never met with such protection before; and the first strong determination of her mind expressed itself, in the words she murmured to herself, "I will repay it!"